They are all of me. Me with Turner and my friends and family. Years . . . there are years of me in these pictures. I place my hand over my mouth to stifle my choking sobs as I try and gain some sort of composure and stand. Here is the proof of his obsession. Dear God, what is going on?

The walls start to close in on me as my eyes drop to a certain picture of Turner and me. This was right before he boarded that plane to take off for his business meeting. I reach for it and run my hands across Turner’s face. In the picture, he has his hand on the back of my neck, bending down to kiss me goodbye. I pluck the picture off of the wall and bring it to my chest, placing it directly across my heart. Then I cry in absolute silence for what feels like eternity.

My husband is right across the hall from me and I can’t even get to him. I am so afraid that he is really dead, or lying there badly injured. He must be. If something wasn’t wrong with him, there is no way Turner would have heard me screaming for him and not tried to get to me. I just have to find a way to get to him.

Knowing this is Trent’s room, I scan my prison looking for some kind of weapon. Both of those men underestimate the power of the love I truly have for Turner if they think they can keep me locked up in here until he, they, or who the hell ever decides my fate. Turner may never forgive me or want a damn thing to do with me after he finds out the debauchery I have sunk to with Trent; I can live with that, but what I cannot live with is not doing everything in my power to get him the hell out of here.

No sooner than I find what could possibly be a knife on top of the small dresser, I hear a key being turned in the lock. I shove the picture into my back pocket, realizing I have no time to grab the knife. I hear a rush of blood in my ears from my heart pumping overtime as the door slowly creaks open. I slide down the wall until my butt hits the floor.

Trent enters the room and follows the trail from the pictures to me sitting on the floor with his eyes. It’s in that moment I fear for my life as he stands there with a smile, holding a gun in his hands. When he lifts it in my direction I try and scream, but nothing comes out. Nothing comes out at all.

The world goes black.

Chapter Twenty-Three

My head is killing me. Rubbing my temples slowly does no good. I know I am making some sort of whimpering sound. I am so sick and tired of being a punching bag for these psychotic fuckers. It’s not until I open my eyes and I am lying in pitch darkness that I recall how I got here.

Trent. Everything leads back to Trent. He pointed a gun in my direction and I don’t remember much after that. I’m alive. This much I know because I can feel the weight of his arm across me, and the smell of his alcohol on his breath. Unless I am actually in hell and he is here with me? Wouldn’t that be my luck? Oh, yeah, how could I forget? I have been living in hell for days, now.

I chuckle at that thought, which makes him stir and I instantly go stiff. Please don’t wake up. The longer you sleep, the longer I can try and make a plan to get the hell out of here. I lay there in silence as he rolls over to his other side and continues his snorefest. He’s a freak. A crazy stalker freak is what he is.

It has to be sometime in the middle of the night and everyone is asleep; at least I hope they are. As drunk as his dad was earlier he has to be passed out somewhere in this shit hole, which gives me the perfect opportunity to try and get to Turner.

I carefully ease myself up and off of the bed and tiptoe as noiselessly across the floor as I can. The door handle turns with no difficulty at all as I open it and step out into the hall. My heart starts to beat rapidly as I stand staring at the door where Turner is. A small light is on in the living room and I hear heavy snoring coming from James, who must be on the couch.

Two steps, just two small steps bring me to the door. In silence I turn the doorknob just knowing it’s going to be locked and all of my hopes dashed. I am stunned when it turns effortlessly and push the door all the way open, only to find myself staring at the silhouette of a body lying on top of a bed.

The room reeks of blood and urine. Only the thought of my husband lying there on that bed in whatever condition he is in keeps me from vomiting all over the place. I steady my unstable feet and press forward until I am standing directly beside him. It’s so dark that it is nearly impossible for me to see, but I know it’s him.

His breathing is somewhat erratic as if he is fighting to draw even a minimal amount of air into his lungs. Seeing him like this makes me want to go on a killing spree and murder both of these slimy bastards for hurting my husband. There really are no words to describe what they have done to him.

I don’t have the time to stand here and think about torturing these men. I need to do everything I can to get my husband out of here and get him to the closet hospital. After what I saw earlier in Trent’s room and how truly he is fixated on me, I trust him about as far as I can spit. He wants me for himself. And that right there is the reason why he’s lying through his teeth. He thinks I’m a damn fool who believes he will truly help me. He’s a damn liar and this is just as much his fault as it is his father’s, as far as I’m concerned.

As I reach forward to touch him, Turner startles me as I hear my name come out of his mouth in a soft, hushed voice dripping with pain.

              “Turner,” I whisper.

I stand there and wait for a few beats and nothing. Is he talking in his sleep and only wishing I was here, or can he feel my presence just as I could feel he was near earlier? I don’t know, but I am not going to think about that right now. I need to see if he is hurt badly in any way and if he is capable of getting up and walking so we can try and get out of here. It’s our only chance right now.

I sit down beside him on the edge of the bed and reach out to stroke his hair. He’s so hot to the touch when my hands finally make contact with his skin. He’s burning up. Bile rises to my throat as I sit here in stunned silence taking in his beaten and bloody face. I cannot hold it in anymore. I stand and gag, ejecting the few contents of my stomach. The stench from this room does nothing but make it worse as my stomach clenches and I dry heave phlegm and spit. Swiping my mouth with the back of my hand, I turn back to my man, stroking his head comfortingly.

“God, baby. What have they done to you?”

              “Clove? Is that you, or am I dreaming?” Turner asks softly. His voice is so hoarse and sounds like he hasn’t had anything to drink for days. I’m so worried about what damage has been done to him. At last he’s alive and he knows I am here.

              “No, baby. It’s really me.”

              “What are you doing here? H-how?”

              “Shh. We can talk about all of that later. Right now I need to get you out of here. Can you get up and walk?”

              “Honey, I don’t know. My left leg is broken, and I am so weak. I have been beaten, and tortured, and-”

“Shh. I don’t think I can take hearing everything they have done to you right now.”

I continue to rub his head. I just can’t keep my hands off of him. He’s here and I have him and I cannot let him go again. I just can’t.

“Turner, I have no plan. I don’t know what to do, but we have to try and get out of here. Can you sit up?”

He moans as if he is in the most excruciating pain and my heart breaks as I hear him struggling to try and get up. His breathing raspy, he groans in anguish as he clutches hold of his stomach.